The tree
Trees tilted,
Weighted by bodies hung,
The truth sits in the branches above,
The stench of death burrows,
Rotting the soil,
Growth killed by injustice itself,
Heavy is the tree who screams with no mouth,
Heavy is the tree with tears turned into a drought.
Swinging back and forth,
Onlookers filled with joy,
A Black body, a Black boy,
No more will he smile,
Just an empty shell -
Well, well, well,
A story as old as time -
A Black boy found dead in the south,
The story they will tell -
He hung himself.
The truth shall set you free,
And yet freedom only works when white holds the key,
The truth is ugly,
But dressed in a white cloak it becomes pretty,
The tree -
A silent witness to this tragedy
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